Undead
by Cheesus333
Summary: A one-off account of the origins of a zombie in Minecraft


I don't exactly remember what went through my head as I fell. Expletives, certainly. Regrets, almost definitely. But not a lot of clarity to make retrospective thought easy. I do remember a heightening of the senses though, as my body reached out to take in every aspect of the world that it could before it left, taunting me with everything I was going to miss. I remember a hard, fast breeze rushing over my body, trying desperately to push me up but getting nowhere. I remember smelling the very familiar scent of grass – freshly eaten grass it seemed, in this case, as a herd of cows were grazing on the field at the base of the cliff. I remember hearing their collective, noisy mooing, and the rush of a million tiny drops of water all pouring over the cliff behind me, following me down. But I don't remember anything after that, because that was when I landed.

I was dead. Very, very dead. My head had split open and strewn its contents across the grass, and one of my legs had speared right through my torso like a javelin. The other had been detached in the process, and was now lying some feet away amidst my blood. Red liquid pooled around me and soon reached the water, where it mingled with the fresh currents to make a gory water feature cut right into the field. My arms were somehow obliterated into shards of bone and lumps of muscle, and my face – from what I could see in the water – was unspeakably mutilated.

It wasn't the first time this had happened, but I hadn't known then it would be the last.

Instead of being suddenly resurrected elsewhere, I remained trapped inside the broken, leaking shell of my body. A gust of wind disturbed the flaps of skin dangling off my face, and they rippled like solemn flags. One of the closer cows approached to inspect the scene, but after a quick sniff decided to return to his herbivorous tendencies. As much as I waited, release did not come.

Hours I lay there, for there was nothing else to do. I began to wonder when, if ever, it would end, and I would be allowed to continue my efforts to cultivate the land for my own needs... or finally escape from the vast, empty world I had inexplicably found myself in. But neither happened. Hours passed until the blocky sun finally receded behind a particularly large tree, and although the blues of the day were fading into deep black, escape did not come. My vision – mysteriously provided to me by absent eyes – slowly faltered as all light faded into deep, impenetrable darkness. And then the monsters came, the legions of the night with whom I was so familiar. I had thought they might have come to feed, or to scatter my remains across the wilderness, but they simply treated me as though I was not there. But, forsaken as I was by the worlds of the living and dead alike, the worst was yet to come.

Slowly, my battered corpse began to reform.

Rotted, stinking flesh sewed itself together; limbs and organs dragged themselves across the grass and back to their places; bones cracked and snapped into place. I was silent with horror as my new form, reflected to me in the still-red waters nearby, became recognisable, but not as a man.

I was one of them now. Undead.

Eventually I realised I could move again. Some necromantic energy had been breathed into a place it should not have been _- me –_ and now I was mobile once more. I placed a shaking leg in front of myself, and dragged my body forward with it. Sure enough, I shambled ahead one pace. A noise startled me – a drawn-out, agonised moan, and I realised it was coming from within my throat. An involuntary cry for escape, for help.

Before long, I learnt the mechanisms of my revived body, and immediately carried out a suicide plan. I painstakingly clambered atop the same cliff and, without hesitation, collapsed off the same lip. But this time my form held on impact and, to my dismay, I was still living. Still undead. But hope was not lost for my damned soul.

A light appeared, vivid and unmistakable – I had seen the glow of a torch too many times not to know it instantly. And then into the aura stepped a man. Me.

He – I – held a sword, and was clad in some simple metal armour. He surveyed the scene, and noticed me. Another groan escaped my shredded lips.

His approach was swift and determined, as if he knew what I sought. With a blow of his sword, he gave it to me.

Death. Welcoming, permanent, _sweet._ I hit the ground, and closed my eyes.

Finally.


End file.
